Experiencing Northern Italy in March 2020

Italy is one of the most romanticized countries on the planet; millions of people travel to the country every year to experience its beauty. For most, this involves visiting one of the larger cities, such as Rome, Naples, Milan or Venice. However, for my trip, I was heading to Fonte, the small Northern Italian town in the Treviso Province with a population of around 5,700. I would be traveling with my friend Chiara, an Italian citizen, who lived in the town when she was younger, and whose family is from Fonte.

When planning the trip in January, I imagined it as a once in a lifetime opportunity to travel around Italy with an Italian native who would allow me to have an experience, unlike most tourists.

However, there was just one issue at hand. The coronavirus.  Over the past month, coronavirus has affected the lives of millions worldwide and sadly taken the lives of thousands. I am far from qualified to comment on the virus other than what I experienced and how it has affected me personally.

To preface, the week before I was planning to leave for Italy, the virus had begun to take off in the Lombardy region. That whole week, I constantly scanned the news hoping for a tad bit of reassurance. It seemed the only positive was from the CDC travel advisory that was only at level 2. But of course three hours before my flight was due to leave, my Dad texted me the level had been increased to 3. This left me with a dilemma. I sat in my Boston apartment, weighing my options. Chiara was set to leave at the same time as me from LAX. It seemed no one’s advice was helping me sway my decision in either direction. My parents said the decision was up to me, they were more worried about me getting stuck in Italy rather than contracting the virus. As for Chiara, she was planning to stay in the country till the end of March, and her plans remained unchanged.

I came to the decision I would board my flight to London and make my final decision there. As I went through the airport I decided I would get on my connecting flight to Venice. I felt I should not let this virus alter my life decisions. I am lucky to be in the age range where it is not fatal, and I was well equipped with hand sanitizer.

Although I was comfortable living with my decision, it did not change how unnerving a six-hour flight can be with a virus going around. I like to think of myself as a pretty clean person but my brief stint being a germophobe makes me question how people could live like this every day. Every cough or sneeze felt like a tiny bomb of viruses being released into the cabin air. I fruitlessly covered my mouth and nose with my jacket for most of the flight. I felt a huge sense of relief as I exited the plane in London. However, the relief quickly vanished as I entered the south terminal in Gatwick. Hundreds of people confined in this relatively small terminal seemed like a perfect place for a virus to spread.

I attempted to evade any thoughts about the virus by assessing my options on where to enjoy a full English breakfast. Looking back, I foolishly chose Jamie Oliver’s restaurant. I sat alone, next to two British businessmen, who were discussing the stupidity of Americans for refusing to buy any Corona beer. Back to the breakfast, where the eggs were barely fried and the whole breakfast was lacking in flavor, I decided, either Jamie Oliver is just an English Guy Fieri or airport dining is a lost attempt from the start.

As my four-hour lay over came to an end, I walked to the gate imagining who else would be joining me on the flight. Unsurprisingly, there were only about twenty people in total. Half wearing masks, half seeming unworried. For some reason, I felt a sense of reassurance when I noticed a family with two small children boarding the plane. After landing in Venice, we were greeted by workers dressed like the doctors in the movie Contagion. This would be the first and last health screening I experienced the whole trip. The whole ordeal lasted seconds, they greeted me with “Ciao”, took my temperature, and we both said, “buonasera”.

After Chiara arrived, we were picked up from the airport by her neighbor Mirco, who would drive us about an hour and a half to Fonte that evening. During the drive, I attempted to understand their conversations but my elementary level Italian was failing me miserably. The most I could understand was that we would be going to a restaurant called Casa Bianca for dinner that night. In a small town like Fonte, very few people speak great English; luckily Chiara would have no problem helping me translate throughout the trip. We dropped off our bags, picked up Mirco’s wife, and made our way to dinner.

Having not eaten anything since the wonderful Jamie Oliver experience, I was more than ready for my first Italian meal. Casa Bianca was more similar to a home than a restaurant. As you walk in, there was a huge fireplace in the middle of the dining room with about ten tables. At the table, I confidently read through the Italian menu but eventually had to give in and ask Chiara for some translations, while Mirco and Stella asked Chiara what I would like for antipasto, I told them I would eat anything. For my main course, I ordered gnocchi with speck and artichoke. To start, we had smoked salmon, smoked swordfish and shrimp. I had no idea Italians had such an affinity for smoked fish. The gnocchi I have tried in the United States is incomparable to gnocchi in Italy; it is as if they are two completely different dishes. Now, the gnocchi at Casa Bianca would not be the best I had during the trip, but it was still by far better than any other gnocchi I have tried.

For some time during dinner, I had completely forgotten about the virus. Every table was filled with people of all generations happily conversing. The virus eventually came up in conversation at dinner but Mirco and Stella did not seem to be phased by all that was happening in the neighboring region. Back home many of my friends were telling me not to go on my trip. As I ate my dinner, surely as the only American in the restaurant, I was happy in my decision and reassured by the attitude of everyone around me.

The next day, we were both jet-lagged and feeling a little weak from flying. However, Chiara had built up the local pasticcere, so we ventured on. It was clear Italians were continuing to live their lives, the pasticcere was full, and we had to stand at the counter. Chiara told me to order this yogurt pastry that has the consistency of cheesecake and topped with tart little mountain berries. As we were ordering I looked down the counter into the kitchen and saw the pastry chef, a skinny Italian man wearing a large bakers hat with the perfect Italian mustache, I was sold, there was no way any pastry this man was making could be anything short of perfection. I told Chiara we would be coming back every morning for breakfast.

The rest of the day consisted of Chiara giving me a tour of Fonte, and visiting the larger neighboring city of Bassano. About a year ago, Chiara had introduced me to amaro, and it quickly became my favorite post-dinner routine. However, it was a very specific amaro made by Nardini. Unknown to me until that afternoon, the amaro was made in Bassano. We made our way through the beautiful city down to the bridge that overhangs the river that runs through the city. At the beginning of the bridge, was a small Nardini bar, we ordered two amaros with sparkling water and an orange peel. We walked out onto the bridge and took in the view. My affinity for Nardini amaro cannot be overstated.

As we headed back to Fonte, we found out the Juventus vs. Inter Milan match we had planned to watch at Chiara’s family friend’s house was canceled due to coronavirus. Fortunately, we still would head to Gina’s for dinner. Gina and her husband Piero lived about two minutes from Chiara. I was graciously let into their beautiful home as if I had known them for years. We could not communicate much but I quickly became very fond of Gina and Piero. It was very rare for one of their friends to bring a random American boy to Fonte. I am sure to Chiara’s pleasure many of her friends were asking her to bring me over for a meal. Our meal started with some antipasto of prosciutto, fresh bread, smoked salmon, roasted radicchio wrapped in prosciutto (probably the best thing I have eaten in any home) and cherry tomatoes with olive oil and salt. I must also mention that all the vegetables came from their garden right outside. Right from the start, I was completely enamored with the night. Before this trip, I have had a of couple meals in Rome and nice Italian restaurants in the North End in Boston, but none of these compared to a home-cooked Italian meal from Gina.

We continued the meal with a simple radicchio salad and risotto with speck while still making sure to finish all the antipasto. Chiara had mentioned earlier more friends would be stopping by for dessert. As we were finishing our meal Luigi, Melda and Flavio—whom I was informed was in charge of the gelato—walked in. Throughout the dinner, we were drinking wine, but what was to come next I was not prepared for, and that was Flavio. Flavio is a sixty-something-year-old Italian man who can light up any room. He was aware I knew very little Italian, however, this did not stop him from speaking to me in Italian the rest of the night as if I could understand every word. We started dessert with crostoli a typical carnival dessert (carnival occurred just before I had arrived), it is crispy dough covered in powdered sugar and of course made by Gina. Flavio informed me the region we were in was well known for its Grappa, a grape-based brandy. He also seemed to make it his life goal to fill me with as much Grappa as humanely possible; we shared Grappa shots back and forth while speaking to each other in a mix of Italian, Spanish and English. After the crostoli, Flavio brought out the gelato, while Gina kindly made everyone espressos. As she handed me my espresso, Flavio motioned the Grappa bottle, knowing there was only one answer, I agreed. As the gelato was being served, Piero went to the cupboard and brought out a bottle of Irish whiskey. I had not realized along with the Grappa, everyone combines his or her gelato with a couple of shots of whiskey. Quickly, I realized why and wondered why I had haven’t been doing the same. As I sat gleefully at the table, full and somewhat inebriated, I thought the dinner had finally come to an end. I would be wrong; Piero disappeared for a minute, reappearing with a mason jar of small peaches that had been preserved in Grappa. I was well aware I would be served at least a bowls worth of the fruit. At first, I was a little queasy about the peaches that had taken on a grey color during preservation. After some small bites, I was fully enjoying the peaches with a hint of Grappa. As the dinner finally came to a close, I realized we had agreed to meet Chiara’s friend from school at a local bar. As I wondered how I would make it through the night, I graciously thanked everyone for the incredible meal and Flavio for all the Grappa.

Heading to the bar, I was interested to meet some Italians who were my age. We arrived with Chiara’s friend Alice at Bar Rock, a small dive bar with an affinity for American rock and roll. The inside was quite small but the large outside porch had heaters and antique couches and chairs. As we walked in, it seemed everyone knew Chiara. Her friends, who knew a little more English, were interested in why an American had come all this way to their small town in the middle of a pandemic. Over a good number of gin and lemons, Chiara caught up with all of her old friends, and Alice and I attempted to teach each other our languages. None of the younger crowd seemed bothered by the virus in any way. It was interesting to see how people my age spend their nights halfway across the world. I enjoyed the chill dive bar with good music where everyone was conversing; opposed to the shitty club/bars in Boston I had experienced.

The next day waking up was a little bit of a struggle. We decided to make breakfast at home and have a relaxing day. Chiara gave me a driving tour of the town and its surrounding area. We had planned the night before to get pizza with Alice for dinner. We would be going to Volpe (The Fox). Chiara informed me it was the best of the best. We drove about 20 minutes, ending up on a small road that led into a graveled parking lot where the restaurant was located. We walked into the somewhat large restaurant, where two large pizza ovens were visible to all in the dining room. Chiara and Alice seemed to already know what they were ordering. They told me to order the Battuta, which meant they rolled the already skinny pizza dough even thinner and served it on a huge wooden pizza peel. My excitement grew even more. I decided on the prosciutto, mushroom, and artichoke pizza while Chiara ordered arugula, cherry tomato and smoked bufala mozzarella pizza and Alice ordered a smoked swordfish, cream cheese, and arugula pizza. At Volpe, you eat pizza with a fork and knife, and it is physically impossible to pick up a slice because the crust is so thin. It was phenomenal, I wish I had the time to try every pizza. Alice’s pizza might have been my favorite; the smoky swordfish with the cream cheese was an incredible pairing. I left more joyful than I arrived just being happy to have been to such an amazing establishment.

The next morning, we woke up at 6:30 a.m. to drive to Alleghe, a small skiing town two hours north, where we would ski the next two days. I do not think my readers care too much to hear about the skiing portion of the trip so I will keep it brief. First off, I now believe for anyone planning a ski trip, the Dolomites is the place to go. Due to the virus, there was never a line, but Chiara said it is rare to wait very long even when there is not a virus spreading across the country. Food-wise, while skiing, you can get a delicious schnitzel and fries at the numerous restaurants spread across the mountains. As for dinner, we decided to try one of the hotel’s restaurants. Hungry after a full day of skiing, we were looking forward to some hearty mountain food. It turned out we were the only ones in the dining room until halfway through our meal. We started the meal with fried dumplings topped with pata negra ham and Nevegal cheese cream along with spinach gnocchi with aged cheese and finferli mushrooms. For our main course, we ordered pan-fried deer filet sautéed with cranberry and horseradish sauce and served with mountain polenta along with mint marinated lamb ribs with braised artichokes. The meal was the perfect way to experience the cuisine in the Dolomites. All the ingredients were fresh, and it was just the type of meal you want after a long day of skiing.

After two long days of skiing, we took the train to Venice for the day. At this point, the severity of the virus was obvious. The streets of Venice were barren of people. Chiara said she had never seen so few people walking the streets. It was a grim look at how the virus was going to alter everyday life and businesses for the foreseeable future. From the train station, Chiara led me to a place she goes whenever in Venice. It seemed to be only locals, rather than one of the numerous tourist trap restaurants around the city. The small shop was nestled into the corner of a building along the canal; it could barely fit eight people inside. We ordered from the counter that displayed the small sandwiches that cost only one euro and a small glass of wine for one-fifty. We stood along the canal eating our porchetta sandwiches and drinking our wine; it felt like it could not get much better.

As we continued our day walking through the small streets of Venice it was hard not to notice the economic impact of the virus. Gondoliers would ask us if we wanted a ride for only 50 euro, and when Chiara would respond in Italian, they would apologize, only wanting to ask tourists. Restaurants were empty, with hostesses dispiritedly waiting for customers. We walked to St. Mark’s Square, where usually thousands of tourists congregate. On that day, however, only about 30 people were admiring the church. It was disheartening to walk around seeing a city that so heavily relied on tourism to become desolate. We went to lunch at a restaurant Chiara had visited the past summer. They greeted us cheerfully and showed us to a table. Only two other tables were occupied in a restaurant in the middle of Venice. Shortly after we sat down, they brought us a small plate of pasta and grilled sardines. I ordered a delicious tagliatelle with mussels, clams, and shrimp. In the end, they brought us flavored grappa along with dessert. As they brought the check, they asked if we could review them of Tripadvisor and kindly gifted me a bag of Italian cookies. I left feeling helpless. I knew it would get worse sooner than it would get better and just hoped all these businesses and people would make it through the difficult times. For the rest of the day, we continued to walk the streets, stopping at gelato and pastry shops, doing our best to support some of the businesses. We returned to the train station feeling a little defeated. There was nothing we could do, but we hoped everything would return to normal as soon as possible.

It was a quiet train ride back through the countryside. The only thing keeping me awake until dinner was the fact we would be returning to Gina’s for another meal. I was informed it would be a much simpler meal but was not bothered in the slightest. We returned to Gina’s long dining room table. Again it was just Chiara, Gina, Piero, and I. This time we started the meal with homemade salami made by Gina’s son, prosciutto, bread, tomatoes, and radicchio. As we were discussing our day in Venice, the doorbell rang, it was Flavio, and he would be joining us for dinner. Flavio came in greeting everyone, still speaking to me in Italian as if I understood everything. He had come in from work, his hands were covered in dirt, and Gina quickly ordered him to wash his hands in hot water for three minutes. Now that everyone was disinfected, Gina served us all pasta in a simple tomato sauce. Although it was simple, it was incredibly delicious. The pasta was cooked perfectly; the sauce was simple, a little spicy and was made with the freshest ingredients. If there were any place in the world to be quarantined, it would be Gina’s. As we finished our main course, the doorbell rang, an unfamiliar man walked in, he said “ciao” to everyone, handed Piero gelato and left promptly. Even Chiara had no idea who the man was but I hope he knows I was thankful for the gelato. As we moved on to dessert, I felt like a seasoned veteran. I was prepared for the whiskey that would be promptly poured into my gelato. I was ready to take any grappa shot with Flavio. However, Piero had a surprise, he disappeared downstairs as he did at the last dinner, reappearing with a new jar, this time cherries preserved in grappa. He joyfully filled my gelato bowl with five cherries. Once again, I surprisingly enjoyed the preserved colorless fruit. I was interested in what other fruits he had preserved in the basement. I asked Chiara if she could ask for me, I guess some of it was lost in translation, as he shot up enthusiastically, thrilled that I had enjoyed the cherries, and headed back down to the basement reappearing with more cherries. This time the cherries were edible shots of grappa, and Piero had no issue serving me five more even as Chiara repeated, “Basta, basta”. Once again, I left Gina’s joyful, full, and drunk. It was another meal to remember.

The next day, we headed back to Bassano to walk around and get lunch. Throughout the trip, I had randomly seen different Italian cooking shows explaining the process of making baccala playing in bars and on Gina’s television. Luckily, Chiara knew a place in Bassano known for its baccala. The restaurant was narrow, with a bar on the right side and two rows of tables along the left. There was cycling paraphernalia decorating the walls. I ordered the baccala and Chiara ordered the rabbit. The dish was a huge serving of baccala with a side of polenta. For the first half of the dish I loved the baccala, the fish was creamy and salted to perfection. Determined to always leave my plate clean, I kept eating. However, the huge serving was just a little too much baccala. Chiara’s rabbit was also incredible along with the side of boiled cabbage. I was surprised how the chef could make boiled cabbage such a simple dish so incredibly delicious. I left satisfied, I now knew I loved some baccala but not too much baccala.

That night, we would be going to Bella Vista, one of the nicest restaurants in Fonte. Chiara’s friend, Christian, who I also had hung out with before, worked as a chef at the restaurant, and he had lived with Chiara’s family in America the previous summer. Bella Vista was about four minutes from Chiara’s home. It resembles a home more than a fancy restaurant. We had planned to go out later in Bassano with friends so we ate on the earlier side at 7:30. Like our dinner in Alleghe, we were the only ones in the dining room for some time. The dining room was an intimate setting with two small dining rooms on either side of the small entrance area by the front door. The owner, who doubled as our waiter, kindly greeted us and showed us to our table. He proceeded to explain the menu to Chiara in Italian. She abbreviated telling me the important information; we decided to order the seafood antipasto and the risotto for our main course. Not knowing what to expect, I sat anxiously waiting for our food. Another waiter came around serving multigrain croissants fresh out of the oven. Shortly after, Christian came out of the kitchen to talk with us; he kindly offered us a dessert on him.

The seafood plate consisted of raw prawns, raw shrimp, raw salmon, smoked swordfish, and tuna tartar with small slices of apple and caviar on top. I had no idea where to start; everything was so clearly fresh and perfectly plated. I feel as if any attempt at a description of what I tasted would be insufficient. The only takeaway I feel confident sharing is for someone who had never tasted caviar it seems a little overpriced. Don't get me wrong I enjoyed it with the dish but do not see a situation where I would pay top dollar for the ingredient if I were cooking at home. After the raw seafood feast, our risotto with asparagus and shrimp came out. The risotto had taken on a green color from the asparagus and was topped with some red spice blend. I joyfully finished mine and almost half of Chiara’s after she had become too full. The owner came over once more to take our order for dessert. He kindly offered to pair our apple strudel with a local Moscato.

On my last full day in Italy, we started with one last trip to the pasticcere. I was somewhat distressed this would be my last morning to enjoy a frutti di bosco or buttery croissant. The distress lingered throughout my day, as I would miss many of the luxuries I had become accustomed to over the last week. Our meal that night would leave me even more distraught about leaving.

We spent one last afternoon in Bassano. We sat in the town square at one of the bars. As we enjoyed our spritz, the square was surprisingly quite busy given the current situation; it seemed to be like any other Saturday afternoon. We went down to the bridge for one more amaro. From Bassano, we returned to Fonte, to have an apertivo with Alice at Chiara’s godmother’s bar Dal Bello. Dal Bello was the winery across the street from the bar and Chiara’s house. Not much had changed since our first visit on Monday, other than no one could gather around the bar area. Chiara’s godmother still believed the virus was a conspiracy even though her brother, the owner of Dal Bello, diligently stayed six feet away from everyone. As we sat on outside enjoying our spritz, flash lightning lit up the sky. The next day was national women’s day in Italy, and it is customary for men to give women in their life ­­­­a bundle of mimosa flowers. Chiara’s father’s cousin, Bruno, a gardener, dressed in what seemed to be a formula one driver’s outfit, showed up holding a bundle of the mimosa flowers. He promptly approached every woman in the bar, handing them a bundle of flowers. After Chiara and Alice were gifted flowers we headed to dinner around 8:00. We would be going to Canciani a restaurant in Fonte only open on the weekend. Similar to Bella Vista, the restaurant from the outside reminded me more of a home but much bigger than Bella Vista. As you enter, there was one spacious dining room to the left along with another large room in the back, on the right side, you could see into the kitchen. Once again, as I had become accustomed to, we were the first ones in the restaurant. Chiara was friends with the owner, a long grey-haired Italian man who would frantically but intently rush around the dining rooms all night attending to the hundred or so customers. He kindly had reserved a table for us right by the huge open fireplace in the front dining room.

I was amazed by the interior of the restaurant. The high ceilings, brick walls, and decorations reminded me of a cozy cabin. ­­­The owner returned bringing us a bottle of wine of his choice. Shortly after, as the restaurant started to fill up, he returned reciting the whole menu from memory to Chiara and Alice who kindly translated for me. There would be three courses. For the second and third courses, there were about three options to choose from. We decided to each order a different menu item to maximize our visit. The owner listened intently and left to put our order in without writing anything down.

Foolishly, I helped myself to the tempting breadbasket. Our first course was soon brought out. All at once, our table was soon filled with plates including prosciutto, salami, fried vegetables, cheese, roasted radicchio, and polenta. It was incredible, everything was delicious and the amount of food was beyond generous. Smartly, Chiara and Alice paced themselves during the first course, while I ate almost everything I could reach. For the second course, I had ordered the spinach gnocchi. Well, Chiara more forced me to, saying I had to try it, I had no objections. Chiara ordered bread and speck gnocchi and Alice ordered a dish that resembled lasagna but was filled with a white creamy sauce.  As I said earlier, the gnocchi I ate in Italy cannot be rivaled. Canciani turned out to be the best of the best gnocchi I ate in Italy. Again, describing my spinach gnocchi would be a disservice and obviously combining bread and speck into gnocchi can only lead to a heavenly taste. As the second course mainly consisted of carbs and cheese I had begun to regret my pre-dinner bread. We still had our main course to come. I had ordered the rabbit, Chiara the pork ribs, and Alice the squid. It also came accompanied by roasted potatoes and cabbage. The rabbit was covered in a mustardy sauce with capers. The ribs were perfectly cooked. The squid was covered in a sauce I was unfamiliar with but still unreal. All the food at Canciani was simple. There was no overbearing sauce or seasoning on any dish. Bella Vista was fancier than Canciani, but Canciani was nothing similar to anything I have experienced. It was the perfect last meal in Italy.

The next morning, I woke up wondering how ten days went by so quickly. Demoralized, I slowly packed my bags as Chiara rushed me to get ready. On the way back to Venice we picked up Alice who kindly offered to ride with us to the airport. Unknown to us as we left Fonte, the Province of Treviso had shut the province down. Italy was slowly becoming locked down. We drove along the empty roads rarely seeing cars let alone people out and about. When we arrived the airport was even more barren then when I had arrived. I sadly said my goodbyes to Chiara and Alice and headed into the empty terminal.

I left Italy healthy, but definitely, a couple pounds heavier than when I arrived. There was not much I missed out on in my mind other than museums. However, looking back, it makes me feel a little uneasy about how freely we traveled around. One promising aspect was everyone around me practiced good hygiene and always followed the ordinates the government put in place. Chiara and me especially, sanitized after exiting any store, before eating, after eating, and after greeting people. Days after I left, Chiara was forced to stay inside unless it was necessary to leave the house. Even the thought of Chiara or myself giving the virus to the elderly people we shared meals with during my time in Italy hurts to think about. I am extremely thankful everyone I came in contact with has stayed healthy so far.

Since coming back to the United States, my life has been quite different. When I returned, my college forced me to self-quarantine for two weeks. I understood the request but they bombarded me with texts and emails making sure I stayed away. They even requested, that I not return to Boston. One of my roommates even moved out for the two weeks I quarantined, and none of my friends would hang out with me besides my other roommate. The CVS under my apartment has had no toilet paper, wipes, or paper towels for two weeks since my return. It seems the United States has lost its common sense, especially the government, as the virus has spread. In Italy, Chiara said no one had bought out all the toilet paper or paper towels. Italian citizens abided by the ordinances once they were put into place.

When I booked my ticket to Italy three months ago, I could have never expected what I experienced over the ten days. I am still confident I made the right decision to board my flight to Venice three weeks later. Since the virus has spread throughout the United States since my return, I think we can look at Italy as an example of how to flatten the curve. From my experience, whenever the government put in new ordinances, everyone followed the rules. If people here stay home as they have in Italy over the last month the virus will slowly be contained.